


So Show Me Why You're Strong

by alisonkay



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Beth Lives Fic, Coda AU, Coda spoilers, Gen, Post-Coda, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisonkay/pseuds/alisonkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick was fighting back his own tears, trying to focus on the road, and not the man in the back seat or the tiny blonde body he was clutching like it was suddenly going to spring back to life.</p><p>It wasn’t. Beth Greene was dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They arrived back at the Church mostly in one piece. Rick had barely managed to round the group up, but somehow they’d loaded into the fire truck and other vehicles and headed back to the only home base they had.

The scene in the street out front of Grady Memorial had lasted too long—or not long enough, if you asked Rick. They’d barely had time to process that Daryl was carrying Beth’s lifeless body before Maggie’s wails had called a mass of walkers to them. Glenn had picked up her boneless body from where she’d fallen and lugged her to the fire engine with no help from her.

The others, too, had been shocked and slow to move. Daryl wouldn’t let go of Beth’s body even after he was inside one of the cars. Rick had never seen him so utterly destroyed. He had just enough time to wonder what exactly had transpired between them in their time alone before he started up the car and headed to Father Gabriel’s church.

The ride had been heavy and awkward in a way Rick hadn’t expected. Carl sat in the passenger seat, Judy clutched closely to his chest. He was crying, Rick knew he was crying, but Carl hid his tears as he bowed his head low over his sister, who simply looked bewildered. Rick was fighting back his own tears, trying to focus on the road, and not the man in the back seat or the tiny blonde body he was clutching like it was suddenly going to spring back to life.

It wasn’t. Beth Greene was dead.

After they reached the church, things got a bit more difficult to control.

Daryl had carried Beth’s body inside the church immediately, laid her body down at the foot of the altar near the front. Maggie didn’t even try to follow him. Her eyes were unfocused, and she made no sign that she even knew Glenn was with her, holding her back to his chest, stroking her hair. 

The others milled about, uncertain. Rick took a moment to take stock and checked in on Carol, fiercely glad that at least they had gotten one of their people back. 

Things happened very fast, then. The treeline seemed to blur with movement, and suddenly they were there—a whole new herd of walkers, rotting corpses with gnashing teeth and creaking joints, pouring out evenly through the trees and up the road. Everyone had been so distracted, so focused on their grief, they hadn’t noticed until it was too late to counter the attack. 

The group headed for the cars, and Rick barked out Daryl’s name, the only one of them who had made it into the church. He was at the door in seconds, his eyes wide with fear—he couldn’t lose another person.

Rick could see the scene play out right in front of his eyes; Daryl saw the walkers, saw everyone heading for the vehicles, and he made to head back inside, back to Beth’s body. Rick couldn’t allow that. The walkers were practically on them, and he would not put Daryl’s life in danger, just to spare a lifeless body the indignity of being eaten.

"Daryl, no!" 

Rick was faster. He hadn’t been carrying over a hundred pounds in dead weight for the last hour, and he wasn’t weighed down with as much grief, either. He made it to Daryl before the other man was even halfway inside the church.

Without preamble, Rick grabbed the back of Daryl’s winged vest and tugged, shoving his friend out of the church. Daryl tried to fight, something akin to an animalistic growl coming from his throat, but Abe was suddenly there, the butt of his gun coming down swiftly on the back of Daryl’s head. The distraught man sunk to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Rick was caught somewhere between grateful and indignant at Abe’s quick thinking, but had no chance to comment as the burly man bent down and tugged Daryl’s body over his shoulder. Abe then turned tail and headed for the vehicles at top speed, leaving Rick alone on the church’s stoop.

Rick’s shaking fingers found the handles on the front door, damaged though they were, and tugged them closed. He managed to wedge a few pieces of debris in front of the closed doors, but even that was wasting too much time, and he had to leave immediately after.

"Goodbye Beth," Rick cast one last glance at the shuttered-up church, the building that would house the remains of Beth Greene, and felt somehow like they were making the right choice—like the house of god was exactly where Beth should be put to rest.

The walkers reached the church just as Rick slid into the drivers seat of the car, Daryl’s body slung out over the back seat, Carl and Judy at his side once more. A sense of calm settled over his bones as he watched from the rearview mirror; the walkers were passing straight by the building and heading for the louder, more promising vehicles for their next meal.

—-

The markings on the trees had ended near the church, a small little thing someone had taken the time to fortify with boarded up windows and spikes around the entrance. Not much of a defense, but it might last against a couple of walkers. 

As Morgan got closer, he realized that the front doors had been barricaded from the outside. Whoever’s trail he was on—the people from terminus who had promised sanctuary, or maybe someone else, he wasn’t sure—they had been here. 

Could be that one of them got bit and the others were too squeamish to finish the job, instead simply barricading the infected inside.

Morgan had no such qualms. Not only did he believe it was his duty to put every walking piece of dead scum out of it’s misery, but he was running low on food. If the group he was tracking had left anything behind, he needed it. Hell, maybe they left him a convenient map to follow, and a compass, since he was being hopeful anyways.

It didn’t take much to clear the front doorway, which had Morgan reconsidering. It wouldn’t do much to keep anything in, or out. When the doors were opened, things started to make at least a little bit of sense.

The small church was ominously dark, despite the sunny weather outside. Most of the windows had been boarded, and the only light came from the higher, stained glass windows near the altar. What could be seen of the pews indicated quite a story—broken wood, empty cans, large spots of dried blood. People had fought here, and as Morgan looked further into the church he realized; they had died here, too.

What little light did trickle in to the church fell mostly on the altar, and the small body at the base of it. Red, blue, and green light danced across the face of a young woman with pale skin and yellow hair. She looked almost perfect, serene in death and without any obvious wound to be seen.

As Morgan stepped closer, one hand on the hilt of his knife, he realized he was mistaken. The red colouring from the stained glass had camouflaged the wounds on the girl’s face, and the deep red staining her hair. As Morgan knelt next to the body, he could finally see the small bullet hole in the top centre of her forehead.

Apparently, her people had been smart enough to make sure she wouldn’t come back.

There were no other noticeable wounds besides a cast on her wrist and a few sutured cuts on her face. Her people had a doctor with them, if the girl’s obviously cared-for wounds were anything to speak on. As Morgan’s eyes roved over the small body, he couldn’t find any wound that may have caused her death—except, obviously, the head wound. 

Was this girl shot, point-blank, without the reason of turning to motivate the shooter? Morgan couldn’t imagine why anyone would have killed the young woman without a damn good reason.

Or maybe the person who had done the shooting was too far gone. Maybe these ‘Terminus’ people weren’t quite the folk they claimed to be.

Moving the girl’s body seemed like some sort of sacrilege. Morgan wasn’t exactly a god-fearing man, especially after his wife and son, but something about the way the stained glass played rainbows across her face seemed right. Even if the way she died seemed callous and needless, her placement here felt purposeful. Someone had loved this girl, and they had given her to god, in the end. They’d even barricaded the doors so no walkers could disturb her.

Morgan almost felt touched, when he thought about it.

Deciding to leave the girl where she was—she wasn’t rotting yet and she wouldn’t turn, which secured the safety of his senses and his life—he went about his business barricading the doors back up and searching for supplies. 

As it turned out, whoever had left the girl had also left one bottle of water, and two granola bars. Feeling rather lucky, Morgan sat against one of the few remaining pews, tucking in to his dinner and sipping on the water delicately. He’d also managed to find a few (hundred) candles, which he’d littered about, giving the church an almost warm glow. 

A piece of an almond jammed against Morgan’s gums and he swore loudly, a fingernail making it’s way to pick at his teeth. As he worked on the sharp chunk of nut, his eyes wandered, skimming over the sad looking girl once more, and then falling on something near to her right shoulder.

At first Morgan thought he was imagining things. As he squinted harder, pinky hanging limply between his lips, he realized he was, in fact, seeing correctly. Standing slowly, pinky nail-cum-toothpick all but forgotten between his teeth, he made his way to the girl’s body.

His eyes had landed on a map. As Morgan leaned over the girl to grab the thing, he noticed writing scrawled over one edge. His eyes skimmed along one sentence over, and over.

‘ _ **THE NEW WORLD’S GONNA NEED RICK GRIMES**_’

Morgan’s mouth hung open as his eyes traced along the deep red pen marks that travelled up the map, leading a path all the way to Washington, DC.

"Sweet Jesus," Morgan muttered lowly. An unbelieving chuckle burst from his lungs, and he threw his head back with the feeling of elation running through him suddenly. 

Morgan laughed, loud and long.

As his laughter quieted, the knowledge that he had been following Rick Grimes the whole time settled into him. He should have gone with the man when he still had the chance, but fate seemed to have thrown them on the same path once again. Surely, that was a sign. The location in which he had found the sign didn’t escape Morgan, either.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d have to reconsider his relationship with God.

Suddenly, as if on queue with his revelation, the body next to him moaned lowly. Morgan all but jumped out of his skin, on his feet in a flash, knife in hand. How was it possible? The girl had been shot in the head, there was no way she should be turning now. Unless, by some terrible stroke of bad luck, the bullet had only grazed the brain. It did look a little high on her forehead.

The body twitched then, fingers of the right hand spasming as another moan emanated from the thing’s throat. Morgan felt sick about seeing her turn, and for the first time in a long time, he felt pity for a walker. 

"I’m sorry, girl," Morgan sighed as he lowered himself once again, crouching next to her body. The only response was for her fingers to twitch some more.

"Go with God," Morgan said softly, surprising himself with the words he hadn’t even thought before speaking.

One hand reached out to steady her head, the other poising his knife above her temple. As he pulled his knife hand back to give him more momentum, the girl’s eyes fluttered, then opened, revealing a startlingly blue gaze, unlike any of the cloudy looks a walker had given him in the past.

"Jesus!" Morgan gaped, and the eyes closed once more, the body going still. It took a moment for the man to build up the courage, but eventually he moved to peel back one of her eyelids. That same blue was still there, unseeing, but also certainly not dead.

This girl was no walker. This girl was _alive_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgan takes care of bullet-hole Beth.

It was two months before Morgan was able to get his new charge on her feet.

He had fastened a loose bandage over her forehead and another over her left eye. When Morgan had first gotten a good look at her eyes together, it was clear that while one responded to light as it should, the other’s wide pupil nearly crowded out the surrounding iris. After she had become conscious, every time she’d opened the eye searing pain had forced sobs out of her in a way that had Morgan crafting the new eyepatch in moments.

She was shaky at first, weak like a precious new fawn. Morgan watched her steadily, his eyes hawking her movements as his arms steadied her. She stumbled a bit, appeared to be adjusting not only to unusual depth perception, but some other struggle with her balance. She kept trying to put the same foot in front of itself, forgetting the other entirely. 

Morgan gently returned her to her makeshift bed, and promised they’d try again later. The girl had vocalized no assent, and promptly fell back into a troubled sleep, a state she’d been in almost consistently since he’d found her.

At first, it had been more than just touch and go. Morgan had been sure she would die any minute, with her shallow breathing and apparent blood loss. Her brain needed oxygen more now than ever, and wasn’t getting it. He’d done all he could: cleaned the wound, coaxed water down her throat, elevated her head. What else could he do, to treat a bullet to the brain?

As it turned out, his ministrations hadn’t been for nothing. The girl had improved slowly--painfully slowly. She’d drifted between unconscious, awake but totally oblivious, and incredibly lucid in those first weeks. Each time she woke he barely manage to get her to eat some food, down some water, and tell him a small tidbit about herself before she’d zone out once again.

After three about months, Morgan knew this: Beth Greene was probably older than sixteen (“I got a horse for my sweet sixteen!” she’d told him out of the blue one day, right before she vomited up the jerky he’d just fed her), she may have had a baby (“You gotta test the formula on your wrist first, or it could burn her.”), and she was one hell of a fighter (how many people could boast surviving a bullet to the brain?). 

He also knew that he was almost thankful that his older sister had bailed on him once upon a time when their mother had gotten sick, because he’d been the one to take care of the confused old woman.

Taking care of a damaged Beth Greene was similar in many ways to taking care of his dementia-ridden mother. In both cases, managing a bathroom schedule was the worst part.

After four months of caring for the young woman, Morgan began to realize he didn’t regret his decision. He could have left her behind to succumb to her wounds, but something had twisted in his gut, and he’d stayed.

She’d come around in the fifth month incredibly, having entire conversations and eating whole meals without prompting. Even her eye seemed to be slowly responding to light, her pupil shrinking a tiny bit when Morgan exposed it to the mild light of a match. 

He wasn’t sure why he had decided to care for her, really. At first it had been a snap decision—you find a young woman on the edge of death, you try to help. But after three days of no response? He’d certainly harboured his doubts. 

He blamed it on God. Really, the fact that he’d found a girl literally on the altar in the church, rainbow light playing across her angelic features and a barely noticeable wound that should have killed her instantly? The chances that someone would have found her alone, nevermind someone who would notice she was alive and then be willing help her…

In any case, God had laid out a path for Morgan to take, and he had, for some reason or another, begun walking down it. Maybe he was just tired of people leaving. Maybe he just wanted to save a life rather than watch it wither away to something unclean and twisted, something with shredded flesh and hungry eyes.

Beth wouldn’t die like that. She was confused half the time and more often than not she remembered the idea of a thing more than the thing itself, but God bless her (literally), she was trying. Morgan felt his affection for the girl blossoming every day they were together. Each time he found himself marvelling at Beth’s ability to crawl into his heart, he had to squelch the thoughts quickly before they conjured up images of Duane. 

Six months after Morgan had found the church, the girl, and the oddly gratifying hint of a belief in God, he ventured out to find a car.

It had been difficult to find food for the church’s two occupants. Most of the nearby buildings had been picked clean of any food, and so Morgan had been using snares and traps to hunt woodland creatures. A nearby stream had fed most of their water needs, and served as a good destination for Beth’s first few ventures into the outside world.

They couldn’t stay much longer. Beth was getting stronger and the walkers were getting more persistent. Morgan was a bit of a whizz with traps and had secured the church into a Mad Maxian fortress, but it couldn’t last. Nothing seemed to last anymore.

With all of this in mind, Morgan knew he needed to get a car. Beth was just starting the mobile part of her recovery, walking around the pews of the church, lifting rocks Morgan had found like weights, practising her grip on a knife. It was like she was learning to do the same things she’d done a million times before, all from a different angle. 

At one point, Morgan had watched as she tried to lift her fingers in order, starting with her left pinky and moving along each finger until she reached the right pinky. It hadn’t worked at first, and she’d been frustrated, lifting fingers at random, or twitching the same finger four times in a row.

Eventually, she’d given up on winning, but had kept attempting mostly out of a lack of anything else to do. He wasn’t sure how or why it happened, but the idleness of the moment seemed to stir something in Beth, and she’d begun to hum. The humming got louder, eventually turning into singing.

Morgan watched with fascination as Beth had sung a jaunty tune he’d never heard before, her fingers suddenly following exactly the path she’d wanted, doing a small wave against the table where they rested.

After she’d finished the tune, Morgan had complimented her on her voice, and asked the name of the song.

Beth had looked at him blankly and asked, “What song?”

\--

"We’ll have to scavenge at pretty much every building we see for the first couple of days," Morgan assessed, eyeing the two jars of pickles and small bag of powdered milk that made up their food supplies.

"S’not like that’ll be that hard," Beth agreed, hauling two gallon-sized milk cartons full of water into the trunk beside their food. "It’s gotta be easier than trying to find food around here."

Morgan’s indelicate snort was the only sign of agreement Beth needed. He’d started taking Beth to scavenge with him as soon as she’d seemed able, an exercise in futility for the both of them. Not only was every building within ten miles picked clean of edible supplies, but Beth had been endlessly distracted by things she hadn’t seen in months.

Every house they visited and every street they walked down had evoked a sense of deja-vu in Beth. She believed most of her memories were intact—her family, her childhood, the walkers, even who the president was before such a title had become irrelevant. It was the details that eluded her; things like why she had left the farmhouse (though she remembered the prison afterwards), why she had thought about shooting a crossbow the first time her hands had closed around her gun, or why the name ‘Rick Grimes’ hadn’t seemed to fit any of the faces she remembered. 

When Morgan had first asked her about her previous companions and the map left behind with her, she couldn’t explain it. She knew she travelled with people—they had been at the farmhouse, had camped through the winter in dilapidated homes, had turned a prison yard into a flourishing garden—but beyond that things got blurred.

She knew for sure that Maggie and her father had been with them—but then, one awful night at the church, while attempting to wash some old blood out of her clothes, she had remembered a man with an eyepatch and the horrible sight of sinew and gushing red that had been her father’s neck. 

There were other memories, too. She could recall sitting around a campfire, singing with her sister as others looked on dreamily. There was a baby she held in her arms, who looked up at Beth with big eyes and cooed—Judith. There was Carl, the baby’s brother, and the father, a tall man with curly hair and sorrowful eyes. She knew she was familiar with the man, but his name escaped her—after describing him to Morgan, he’d seemed sure it was the Rick they were looking for. The name didn’t seem to fit him in her mind, but then neither did any other name she could remember.

"Beth," Morgan’s voice was even but clearly purposeful, startling Beth out of her reverie.

He wasn’t continuing their casual chatter, he was trying to get her attention. Without speaking, Beth looked to Morgan’s face, following the line of his sight to the shambling form of a walker.

The thing was still near the treeline, across the small cemetery. It appeared to be long-dead, missing a few integral pieces and slow on the uptake. It hadn’t even sniffed them out yet. 

"Get in."

Beth’s eyes swivelled back to Morgan, who twitched his head towards the car. They’d basically finished packing the thing up, and nothing remained in the church. Morgan’s fingers were curling around the hilt of his knife, his mind clearly set on ending the walker.

"Wait!" Beth piped up suddenly, throwing up her hands as if to illustrate her point. Morgan sent her a sharp stare, practically daring her to start in on one of those, _‘we don’t need to kill them’_ speeches some people gave.

A slow grin spread across Beth’s face, and she could practically see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Her hands lowered to her sides, the fingers of her right hand curling around the knife that rested at her hip.

"Let me do it."

The space between them was silent. The walker seemed to have finally noticed them and was moaning gutturally in the distance, but the duo never broke eye contact.

"You sure?" Morgan finally asked, his fingers twitching where they still held his knife.

"Yeah, I gotta do this," Her expression was firm as she pulled her knife from it’s holder, "I can’t hide behind you the whole time. I gotta live in this world, too."

Morgan didn’t hesitate to nod then, and Beth felt a rush of adrenaline hit her system. Feeling oddly sure of herself, Beth swivelled on her heels and headed towards the walker.

The dead thing might have been a woman, once. It wore a nondescript shirt and jeans that could have been girly or boyish at one point, but currently they were the exact same putrid shade of rot as the corpse that wore them. A few moist strands of long hair hung around the featureless face, framing the gaping holes that once housed eyes, a nose, even a tongue. Nothing but a few deadly teeth and ominous sockets remained to hint at the humanity that had once resided there.

Disgusting as it was, Beth felt something more akin to anticipation than fear. Her steps never wavered as she neared the thing, and when it’s only intact arm reached out to grab her, Beth batted it away easily. 

"Gross," She mumbled as her left hand reached out, gripping at the slender, fleshy neck of the thing, her right hand raising high above it then hammering down quickly with a deadly blow.  
The body slumped on its boney knees, pulling Beth with it as her fingers were forced to dig into the rotting flesh where the neck met the base of the head. She let go, but not quickly enough, and her hand came away coated to the wrist in rot. Ironically, her knife hand came away clean, the weight of the body falling having pulled the mushy skull right off her blade.

As Beth surveyed the scene before her, she couldn’t help but smile. It had felt disgusting, absolutely, and a little bit terrifying as it was happening, but she’d done it. She’d killed a walker, and beyond that, it had felt almost familiar. She’d known how to kill it, how to hold her knife, what to expect. Of course, she’d been a bit foolish grabbing the thing’s neck, but it had made stabbing the head a bit easier.

"Beth?"

Morgan startled her slightly, but the smile never faltered as Beth spun around to greet him. 

"I did it!" Beth grinned, wiping some sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand—her bloody hand, she realized a second too late.

Morgan remained quiet for a moment, his eyes sweeping over Beth as she stood there, triumphantly sporting walker goo all over her. Smiling appeared to be infectious though, and Morgan cracked a little grin of his own.

"You did good, Beth," He reached out, clapping a hand on her shoulder, "Now let’s get a move on before you ruin your clothes killing every walker that stumbles over here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally this was a multi-chapter story, and then I just put the first chapter up here because I was worried I'd never finish this damn thing...but now I'm back to making it multi-chapter. I won't be updating on a regular schedule, but I'll try and not leave too long between chapters. 
> 
> So, brain injuries? I know nothing about them. I just mucked about and made stuff up with little to no research done. Yay!
> 
> Please leave a review if you liked it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team family sets up camp, meanwhile Morgan has FEELINGS.

Another long day, thankfully ending somewhere worthwhile; Rick had managed to lead his group of survivors to a small town that looked as though it had remained mostly untouched by dead masses and living looters. 

As they crossed the boundary of the town--as made obvious by a large sign proclaiming ‘Welcome to Bethel!’--Rick noted the lack of walkers with relief. They’d been encountering too much trouble lately, and a reprieve would do them all good.

Since the prison had fallen, the group had been bouncing around without a home base, much like their time before the prison. It seemed as though there were no strongholds left, nowhere they could barricade themselves and ride out the rest of their lives. Rick felt hopeless in that knowledge, felt it drowning out any hope he might of felt in the past.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud. The group was tired and worn out, but they were alive and most of them still had hope. They all looked to Rick for guidance, for answers, and he wasn’t going to show even a hint of his doubts. They needed him to be strong, and he would damn well do his best.

“What’s that over there?” Glenn asked from somewhere to Rick’s left, causing the older man to look in his direction.

“Is that a bar?” Maggie added as Glenn continued on, skipping ahead of the group a little ways to get a closer look. 

The building in question was a squat thing made out of brick, every window not only intact but secured with sturdy-looking metal bars. Even the front door, which looked to be made of steel, had a cage pulled down over it. Clearly, the bar’s owner had been either paranoid of losing his booze, or had entertained enough rowdy drunks to know they could get destructive.  


Rick took in the building quickly, then turned his gaze to the other buildings crowding the street. They all appeared to be pretty well boarded up, probably by the citizens before they’d evacuated. Out of everything he could see, the bar looked to be the most secure. 

“Alright. Let’s see if we can’t break the lock on that cage. Seems we’ve found a home for the night,” Rick announced, motioning to the bar with the machete that had been dangling from his hand.

Everyone move quickly, Glenn and Maggie working to get the lock broken while the others huddled around. Michonne and Carl decided to scavenge the buildings in the nearby vicinity, and Rick sent them off with a simple, ‘be safe’. 

The lock on the cage fell away eventually and Glenn moved on to getting the front door open, a task that looked a mite more difficult. Rick watched their progress lamely for a lack of something better to do, his eyes darting around the area every few seconds, just in case a walker approached. 

As Rick’s eyes scanned around for the tenth time they landed on Daryl, who stood a few feet away. He’d been standing there since the group had arrived near the bar, staring off into the distance, and Rick was suddenly struck by the thought that this was odd. Daryl was a cautious man, and the fact that he wasn’t sweeping his crossbow from left to right as he watched the perimeter was peculiar. 

“Daryl?” 

It seemed as though Rick’s voice carried over some sort of large void before reaching Daryl. 

“What?” Daryl asked gruffly, turning his head to peer at Rick. 

“You with us?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, m’fine,” Daryl grumbled, pulling his crossbow up and stalking a little ways further from the group, eyes intent on the surrounding area finally.

Rick’s forehead creased as he realized with a rush what had distracted Daryl. There was a small church, very like the one they’d found Father Gabriel in--and, of course, had left Beth’s body in--sitting innocuously on a hill at the edge of the town. The resemblance was actually a little eerie, and Rick turned sharply towards the bar, glad to see Glenn had busted the front door open.

\--

A harsh grunt pushed its way out of Morgan’s tired body as he pushed his shoulder into the heavy bookcase, shoving the thing forward with all of his bodily strength. The towering unit shuddered before sliding into place, covering the doorway they’d just entered through. The door probably would have held up against a walker or two on its own, but the broken window in the top half was a glaring concern, and Morgan was nothing if not a cautious man.

“You doin’ okay there, old man?” 

Morgan turned disbelieving eyes towards Beth. Her face was all sunny smiles and big eyes, but there was a wicked gleam behind the blue of her irises. There was a spitfire in this girl, and Morgan couldn’t help the chuckle that crept up his throat.

“Who you callin’ old? I seem to remember you were the one falling behind, last run we made.”

“Oh, that’s not fair!” Beth pouted prettily, pointing at her head with one hand, “I got a brain injury. Can’t be helped.”

The sputtering laugh that earned her only strengthened her wicked smile.

“Speaking of runs,” Beth’s attitude turned suddenly, nervous energy tangling her fingers together in front of her, “I think I should go on one before it gets dark.”

The small room suddenly felt even smaller to Morgan, something deep in his gut twisting unpleasantly. He couldn’t name the feeling exactly--concern, or pity, or fear of abandonment--all things that stemmed from the fact that Beth going out without him could result in Morgan being left alone, possibly for good. 

The silence stretched for too long, and Beth’s wide eyes looked terrified. 

“I just--I wanna try and do something on my own, you know? I’ve been practising, and I know I could do it before--before my head and everything, and--I just really wanna--I wanna prove somethin’ to myself,” It all came out in a hurried jumble, and Beth’s cheeks turned a violent shade of red, but she somehow managed to look more determined than before.

“And, um, I saw a building while we were coming in that had this little window above the dumpster, which looked like the only entrance and...I think I could fit into it,” The less important, but still valid other reason she wanted to go out alone, apparently.

Morgan wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her that she was not to leave his line of sight, that she had somehow become important to him, that losing her would be just one more blow to the ever-crumbling life he was trying to build for himself. He looked into her eyes, saw the fire there, and any words meant to disway her died before they could be formed.

“You be safe,” Morgan said instead, pulling his large buck knife from his side and passing it to her, “Take my extra knife, just in case. Don’t go too far, and if you need help, you holler. I’ll come runnin’.”

Beth stared down at the knife that was being proffered to her, hilt-first, like it was a piece of trick gum, about to zap her for taking it. Her eyes darted up to Morgan’s face and seemed to soften in intensity, then fell back down to the knife. 

Without further deliberation, she reached for the knife quickly, snatching the thing up like it was something tasty about to expire any minute. 

“I promise I’ll be smart!” Beth gushed, clipping the knife to one of her belt loops within easy reach, “I’ll just do the one building, then I’ll come right back. It’ll be dark soon, anyways.”

Morgan could only manage a sort of sage nodding. At least, he hoped it was sagely, and not obviously an ‘I’m too worried to speak words, so I’ll just nod’ kind of a nod.

“Be back soon!” 

Morgan raised a hand in farewell, but Beth was already climbing out through the only window they hadn’t boarded up yet.

Sighing heavily, Morgan turned to the task of building a small fire. He had water to boil, a rabbit to cook, and a mind that needed some welcome distraction at this point.

\--

It was the very obvious sounds of someone entering the room that woke Morgan. He was alert in an instant, gun in hand, eyes darting towards the source of the noises. Over the gently smoldering coals of the fire Morgan had built, he could see Beth crawling through the open window with little grace.

Apparently Beth had been right earlier: Morgan was getting old. Old enough that he would fall asleep at key moments, such as when he was alone next to a burning fire and an open window. Mentally cursing himself for his incompetence, he kept a wary eye on Beth, looking for any sign she had been injured.

“Have a good run?” Morgan asked casually, trying to hide the gruffness of sleep on his voice. It wouldn’t do to admit to Beth he’d been asleep or she’d torment him mercilessly--if she wasn’t too busy worrying about him. 

“Yes!” Beth answered quickly, straightening up from climbing through the window. She was wearing a new shirt, this one much cleaner than her last, and she was holding a grocery bag in one hand.

“Turns out that place I mentioned was a little drug store--had all sorts of things! I got a new shirt--” She paused long enough to point at her middle, even wiggling slightly from side to side like she was modelling it, “And some food! Most of the stuff there had gone bad, and I wasn’t the first there...but I got pigs feet!”

At this point Beth reached into the bag and pulled a large jar out by the lid, displaying the pickled things to Morgan with a satisfied smile. Morgan couldn’t do much more than wince at the sight, having no affinity to the product to speak of.

“Is that a favourite of yours, or somethin’?” Morgan asked, semi-fascinated by the pork product that swirled slightly, suspended in briny liquid.

Beth’s face dropped dramatically, and her smile turned into a frown. Her brows pulled down, and Morgan immediately recognized the look as one she wore when she was trying to remember something just out of her reach.

“I thought...I thought they were your favourite,” Beth mumbled gently, lowering the pig’s feet and staring at the jar, a slight pout on her lips.

Morgan wasn’t sure what to do. Beth was a bright girl, both in intelligence and demeanor. When something failed her, when something didn’t fit into her world, it unnerved Morgan more than it really should have. Any reminder of her pseudo-death caused his chest to tighten.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Morgan shrugged, motioning with his hands for Beth to come sit by the fire, “It’s probably someone’s favourite. That’s a good thing.”

Beth seemed to consider for a moment, before she nodded and tucked the jar back into the bag. She had the sense to pull the window behind her closed, securing its lock and pulling the blinds down as well, before she made her way over to Morgan’s side.

“I also got this,” Beth sunk to the ground cross-legged next to Morgan, reaching into her bag as she did. When her hand withdrew, she was clutching at a bag of ramen noodles proclaiming itself to be ‘spicy’ flavoured. 

“Good job, Beth.”

Morgan could see by the way that Beth’s face lit up he’d been right to praise her. Honestly, he was a little bit surprised, and oddly proud by his young companion’s excursion. She’d gone out into the world with little more than her own strong will to keep her company, and she’d come home not only in one piece, but with the priceless addition of food. 

Morgan was very proud, indeed.

“Meet any walkers out there?” Morgan asked gently, looking her over once again for signs of injury. Beth shrugged, pulling a candy bar from the grocery bag and inspecting it.

“There were two walkers inside the building--I think they killed themselves--but they weren’t too much trouble,” She squinted at the candy bar’s label in the dim light of the fire and bit her lip.

“D’you think this is still good if it expired--uh--two months ago? I think--yeah, that--that shoulda been about two months ago. You think it’s alright?” Beth looked up at Morgan with concerned eyes, holding the bar aloft like she was weighing its merit. Morgan only stared back at her, the pride he’d felt knowing she had made a solo run doubling with the fact that she’d encountered walkers.

“Why don’t you try it?” Morgan finally replied, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Eyeing the older man next to her with suspicion, Beth squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

“I will,” She replied simply, before tearing at the packaging and shoving the candy bar into her mouth. Morgan watched her steadily chewing for a beat, two beats--and then she was gagging into the fire pit he’d built.

“Hey, leave the fire alone!” Morgan chastised, but his voice was too full of good humour to hold much weight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya know, it wouldn't hurt you to leave a review.
> 
> Also, in case you were wondering, Beth's POV will be seen later on, after the two groups merge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie finally moves on from her sister's 'death', and Glenn is a sweetie.

Glenn woke to the hard ground and chilled air that signalled Maggie was already awake. Most mornings she woke after him, which afforded Glenn the kindness of waking up curled in her arms, warm and content for at least a few moments before the world came back to him. 

Without such reprieve on this morning, Glenn sat up slowly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

The place in which the group of survivors had holed up for the night was relatively small. Most of them had curled up in the few cushioned booths lining the walls, while Abe and Rosita had claimed the back room, and Maggie and Glenn had created a nest of their blankets behind the bar. From his limited vantage point, Glenn couldn’t see anyone, but he heard the early morning chatter that meant it was at least a semi-decent hour to be awake.

“Maggie?” Glenn called out softly, reaching for the top of the bar’s counter to pull himself upright. When he managed to get his feet under him, he could see the sunlight streaming through the higher windows, despite their heavy security bars. Most of the group were milling around, chatting, eating, and searching the place for anything useful. Maggie didn’t appear to be amongst them.

“Hey, Rick,” Glenn rounded the bar, straightening his shirt and clearing his throat, “You see where Maggie went?”

“Morning, Glenn,” Rick nodded, popping a piece of dried squirrel meat into his mouth, “I figured she was still asleep with you. Maybe she’s gone to clean up a bit?” 

“Right, probably,” Glenn agreed, reaching out to snag the bag of meat Rick was holding out to him.

After a semi-fulfilling breakfast of dried squirrel and berries, Glenn began to worry, if only slightly. Maggie was no where to be seen, and apparently hadn’t been seen by anyone all morning. It wasn’t like his wife to disappear without telling him, and Glenn couldn’t imagine a scenario where she’d go off by herself for more than a few minutes.

“Glenn, you alright?” 

Glenn’s head snapped up and he realized Rick had been talking to him. A few of the others in the room were staring at him too, and he felt his face flush lightly.

“It’s Maggie. I think I should go look for her,” Glenn decided suddenly, standing from the bar stool he’d been occupying, “She’s been gone too long.”

Rick studied his face for a moment, before nodding in agreeance, and standing up himself, handing a squirming Judith over to Carl in the process. 

“You might wanna go check that church on the hill first,” Daryl’s voice filtered over from one of the booths where he was fletching a new bolt for his crossbow. Glenn frowned in confusion, having not seen the church the day before.

“What do you--”

“Right,” Rick cut Glenn off while looking at Daryl strangely, “C’mon, Glenn.”

Rick turned abruptly and headed for the door, leaving Glenn to cast a few confused glances around the room, before hustling after Rick.

 

\--

 

When Glenn got a good look at the church, he realized pretty quickly what was going on. The small building was a near-perfect replica for the one that had been near Atlanta--the one where they’d had to leave Beth’s body. 

He could see why Daryl had suggested looking in the church. No one quite knew why Daryl had been so attached to the younger Greene sister, but his pain at her death had seemed almost equal to Maggie’s.

When they reached the front steps of the church, they slowed to a stop. Glenn searched Rick’s face, but Rick simply shook his head and took up a sentry position, facing away from the church with his gun at the ready. 

Glenn wrote this decision off as evidence of Rick's good sense. If Maggie was inside, it was because she wanted a private moment to mourn her sister; It was something she hadn’t been given much time to do.

Steeling himself, Glenn pushed the church’s front doors open. 

Early morning sunlight--the brightest sunlight, in Glenn’s opinion--was cascading through the church’s high windows, lighting up every corner of the small building. The layout was similar to most of the churches he had seen: pews arranged in two lines, facing the front altar; a walkway in the middle. There was a large metal cross standing directly across from Glenn, high and imposing on the other side of the room. 

He could see a head of light brown hair hunched over at the second pew on the left. Glenn knew it was Maggie even before she straightened up and turned her head towards the sound of his footsteps.

“Hey,” Glenn greeted her gently, unwilling to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

“Hi,” Maggie replied, one hand raising to wipe at the tears in her eyes.

“You scared me,” Glenn sighed as he rounded the corner of her pew, sliding along the smooth wood to fit next to her, “I hate waking up alone.”

A small laugh escaped Maggie, at odds with the tears that welled in her eyes. She closed the distance between them, scooting closer to her husband and resting her head on his shoulder. Glenn’s arm came around her shoulders and reigned her in, pushing as much comfort into the action as he could.

“I saw this place yesterday and I just--I got this feeling in my heart. I felt so--like my Daddy was just sittin’ in this church, and Beth and, and even Mama and Shawn. Like they were all just waitin’ for me to come visit, say something, make peace. I haven’t--haven’t said goodbye to any of them really, Daddy and--and Beth especially,” Maggie rambled out her explanation, and Glenn held her all the closer.

“I know, it’s okay. They’d understand. We haven’t really had time to breathe,” Glenn’s eyes drifted from Maggie over to the big cross. Sunlight glinted off its polished metal, and he felt a twinge of the old pain himself. 

“No, it’s not--it’s not mourning. I feel like I _have_ done that. I’ve cried and cried, and I’ve been angry and hurt. I think ’m just…” Maggie trailed off and Glenn looked back to her face, watching as she bit her lip, “It’s like I needed some time to accept it. To give up the anger and the feelin’ like God didn’t care. Daddy wouldn’t want that, and Beth--god, Bethy--she wouldn’t want me to be hurtin’. She’d want me to pick myself up, and hang on to what I got.”

Glenn knew exactly what she meant. In the time he’d been allowed to be a part of the Greene family, he’d come to realize something: they were fighters, all of them. Each fought in their own way; Maggie was loyal and honest, and she would protect those she loved; Hershel was devout, and he saw the good in people, a hard task these days; Beth had been a light, something bright and cheerful even when things got darker than ever before. 

Maggie was right. Her family wouldn’t want her to carry around anger and hurt like it was a weapon against the walkers, or the other survivors out there. They’d want her to accept what happened, and move on. They would want her to be happy.

Glenn could feel his own eyes prickling, and turned to face the glittering cross. Maggie had still seen his reaction though, and another small chuckle left her. 

“I love you, Glenn.”

“I love you, too.”

\--

Rick was only a little surprised when the church doors behind him swung open, Glenn and Maggie smiling like the happiest couple in the world, hands all tangled up together. He’d expected something a little more sombre, a little more broken--and in that moment he realised what a cynic he’d become. 

Glenn’s eyes met Rick’s, and the younger man flushed slightly, realization dawning on his face. They’d been in the church for a long while, and Rick had a sneaking suspicion Glenn had forgotten he was outside.

“Everythin’ all good?” Rick asked with a raised eyebrow, and Maggie noticed him for the first time. Her eyes were glittery and a little blood-shot, and Rick felt an instant empathy for her. 

“All good,” Glenn confirmed, a serene smile easing his features. 

Rick couldn’t help being curious about what had transpired in the church, but he kept his questions to himself. If his people were happy, he was content to let them be.

“Alright. Let’s head back to the bar, I think it’s time we all had a talk,” Rick nodded back towards the building down the hill.

It was time they figured out a game plan. It was time they figured out a future.

 

\--

 

“You’re thinkin’ we should head to DC?” Beth turned the map in her hands, squinting at the fine lines, intricate like veins leading to different limbs. A red felt line boldly highlighted a pre-planned route.

“That’s the idea,” Morgan nodded from where he sat across the dying fire, securing a rolled up blanket to the top of his pack.

“And you think they’ll be there? Rick Grimes and--and my sister?” 

“So long as they’re still travelling together, and they haven’t had delays--yeah. I think there’s a good chance,” He left out the fact that there were no other leads. 

It was head to DC, or wander aimlessly until the walkers got them. With a plan, they would be doing more than _just_ surviving. 

Beth kept staring at the map, twisting it left and right, squinting at the lines, or where the paper creased. It was like she was waiting for her own message to pop up, some sign that this was the right thing to do. Nothing seemed to be forthcoming for the girl.

“Alright. Let’s do it,” Beth declared suddenly, nodding her head once, and folding the map into a small square. 

Morgan watched her with some amusement, pleased that she seemed to be accepting their quest wholeheartedly. 

“But, uh, we might have to detour,” Beth faltered in her sudden confidence, a thoughtful look crossing her face, “The path on the map leads to a huge herd--we saw that already. We’ll have to go around.”

“We don’t even know how big the herd is,” Morgan countered, finishing with the blanket’s strapping.

“Well, we can’t exactly go through them!” Beth blurted, scowling over at Morgan like he had said something ridiculous.

“Then again…” 

Morgan looked up at Beth with alarm.

“I told you about Michonne, one of the women with Rick? Well, before she was with us, she was alone. Mostly alone anyways, but she could pass through the walkers like she was one of them. She’d walk right next to ‘em, and they wouldn’t even notice. It was ‘cause she had these two walkers, cut off their arms and broke their jaws--they couldn’t eat, and somehow that made it just the same as walkin’ dogs. And since they weren’t attacking her, none of the other ones did, neither,” Beth’s eyes lit up with excitement, like she had just solved some big riddle.

Morgan stared at Beth. Beth blinked back at Morgan.

“No,” Morgan said.

“So, we’re going around then?” Beth asked, pulling the straps of her bag over her shoulders.

“Yeah, we’re going around.”

“Still, pretty neat, huh?”

“Yeah, sounds real ‘neat’. Let’s head out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Morgan/Beth dynamic more than I ever thought I would. They're just such sass monsters at each other!
> 
> Anyways, please leave a review if you liked it. Beth's POV should be comin' around next chapter I think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion of sorts.

Her boot squelched in the thick mud coating the forest floor, and Beth heaved another sigh. With more effort than should ever be necessary to walk, she yanked her boot from the earth and placed it in front of her, wincing as it simply squelched down again. Not only was the pouring rain stopping her from getting to DC--getting to answers, to family--it was ruining her good boots.

Continuing grumpily, Beth headed towards the snares she’d set earlier in the day. 

With nothing else to do but wait, something Morgan was infuriatingly good at, Beth had become restless. After the third time she’s stood to start pacing, Morgan had all but banished her from their shelter, telling her to go find food. She’d set up a few snares, collected some berries, and had even taken advantage of the rain and cleaned herself up as much as she could. 

Walking through the woods had also given her time to think. 

The idea of meeting up with Rick Grimes and his group of survivors made Beth anxious. She still didn’t remember his name from her life before Morgan (before a bullet shredded part of her brain), still wasn’t one hundred percent positive the curly haired man in her memories was him. There were other things she wasn’t sure of too, things that stuck in her head and wouldn’t follow like they should.

Finding the other survivors would mean reuniting with her sister and possibly other old friends, people who were like family. It also held the reality of her memory loss. Would she remember half of them? Would seeing them bring back painful memories?

Would finding the other survivors explain why she had been left behind, gravely injured, and without a chance of surviving on her own?

The thoughts were endless and painful, rumbling about in her head like her daddy’s old tractor. Hell, she could remember that damned thing, but not who had shot her. 

As Beth reached the snare a groan worked its way out of her, her breath puffing in the air. The small construct of rope and twigs had sprung, but was devoid of dinner. No telling how long it’d been like that, dangling and useless. 

“Stupid rabbits,” Beth grumbled to herself, crouching closer to the muddy ground and reaching towards her contraption.

It wasn’t like she could exactly express her fears to Morgan. They were going to find Maggie, Rick, and the others whether Beth was willing or not--she couldn’t exactly leave Morgan, and he was hellbent on finding them.

Instead, Beth took her frustrations and fears out on the bit of her trap that had failed. She’d tied a string just a little too tight, likely causing it to spring at the barest of touches. The rain could have probably even set it off.

“Figures,” She spoke aloud for the second time, leaning back on her heels as she surveyed her surroundings. The area in which she’d placed the trap had been heavily wooded and full of low bushes, a perfect place for small creatures to scurry around. 

A little belatedly, Beth realized it was also the perfect place to sneak up on someone.

The instant Beth realized she wasn’t alone she spun quickly, the momentum carrying her off her feet and slamming her rear-end into the mud. The movement also allowed her to grab her knife, slicing the blade in an arc as she turned.

Blade met flesh, and the resulting grunt of shock let Beth know that she was facing a living person, rather than a walker. The person was tall and likely male, decked out in a heavy rain coat and holding a crossbow loosely at their side. Her blade had connected with the stranger’s hand, slicing deeply along the palm. 

They had either been holding up their hands in an ‘ _I’m friendly_ ’ gesture, or they had been reaching for her.

“Get away from me,” Beth told the person, steel in her voice. She scuttled backwards as she spoke, not lowering her upturned, bloody knife.

The person halted their movements when she spoke, their injured hand splattering bloody rain water in every direction. The crossbow fell to the ground with a sudden ‘ _plop_ ’, the person’s good hand having relaxed its grip. 

The hard rain and the high-collared jacket the person wore made it difficult to make out their features, but the fact that they had relinquished their weapon made Beth feel slightly better. Perhaps they were a _friendly_ stranger. Good people could still exist, after all.

Not entirely trusting, but willing to make concessions, Beth lowered her own knife to her side, pushing her fist into the dirt and levering herself into a standing position. She was soaked head to toe, well coated in thick mud, and sore from trudging through the woods. She probably looked like an absolute maniac, and easy prey at that. 

“Look, I don’t have anything for you to take. Maybe you should just turn around and go that way,” Beth motioned behind the stranger with her knife, “An’ I’ll go this way. I’m sorry about your hand.”

She couldn’t invite the person back to her and Morgan’s camp. Even with the guilty feeling twisting in her gut about their hand, it was too dangerous. They’d have to take care of their own wound. They really shouldn’t have been sneaking up on her, anyways.

The moment stretched, silent and tense. Just as Beth was beginning to wonder if she’d actually said anything out loud, or imagined it, the person lunged forward.

Adrenaline surged through Beth, a familiar feeling that was almost comforting in the face of panic. Her mind wasn’t as used to fighting off living people, but her body didn’t seem to care this wasn’t a walker. As the person moved forward, Beth’s knife hand struck out.

The stranger was faster than Beth. They’d managed to launch themselves towards her so swiftly, she’d only just raised her knife high enough to hit them in the abdomen, sinking into the right side of their gut as they advanced on her. 

With their sudden proximity, Beth could see her attacker was a man. He had his arms out, ready grab her. The man grunted in apparent surprise, stumbled backwards, and fell to his knees, his hands moving to clutch at his middle.

Beth remained where she stood for a long moment, breathing heavily and clutching her knife with a bruising grip. 

The man groaned in pain, his head turning upwards to her, his mouth working around a word slowly.

“Beth?”

Beth’s heart thundered in her chest and she stepped forwards involuntarily. Her eyes raked over the man’s face, and sudden recognition set in. She hadn’t looked at him well enough before, the rain plastering his long hair in his face, his jacket hiding much of his features.

“ _Daryl_?”

 

\--

 

The fire crackled merrily and Morgan shot it a bitter glare. The small shack was no where near warm enough for his liking, and the deceptively bright fire was doing little to help. He tossed another handful of twigs on the thing, just for good measure, and went back to stirring the water and powdered milk concoction he was preparing. 

Beth would likely be back soon, either flushed with success, or just as bitter as Morgan. Of course, her bitterness would stem from a lack of small mammals to eat, but he’d take it. He was in a mood to be bitter, something he felt his seasoned years should allow him, and if Beth came back cheery she’d dash that all to hell. The girl had one hell of an infectious attitude.

Of course, Morgan hadn’t considered she might return coated in mud, blood, and with a strange man’s body draped over her own in some pathetic attempt to keep him upright. 

“What in the hel--”

“Help me!” Beth gasped, collapsing to the ground in a heap with her sodden burden. 

Filing away his ‘ _don’t bring home strays_ ’ speech for later, Morgan jumped to action.

The man with Beth appeared to be conscious, clutching at his bloody gut and gritting his teeth in a way Morgan recognized easily. The man probably should have passed out from the pain by now, but apparently he was a tough sonofabitch. 

Morgan snaked his arms under the man’s, pulling him further into the shack near the fire. Beth crawled after them, shedding her knife and a strange crossbow like they were dirty clothes. 

“Lemme see it, boy,” Morgan instructed, grabbing the man’s wrists and prying them away from the wound. 

The wound was bleeding more than it was worth; a clean stab wound that was just close enough to his side, it likely missed everything important. Morgan had been jabbed by a huge shard of glass in almost the exact same place the year before. 

“Alright, alright, let’s stop this pathetic bleedin’ then, hey?” Morgan asked, grinning inwardly as the man’s eyes narrowed up at him. At least he was reacting to the world around him still, a good sign any way you looked at it. 

“Beth, grab me the first aid kit,” Morgan looked away from the man for the first time, and realized she was already sitting next to him, small cloth bag full of their medical supplies in her hands. 

“Right,” Morgan reached into the bag, his fingers closing around a small bottle of alcohol, “Let’s get started, then.”

 

\--

 

Morgan dunked his hands in the bucket of water once again, rubbing at the base of his nails where the stranger’s blood had stained him. The man was lying near the fire, his head propped up on Beth’s bag, her blanket draped over him. Beth herself sat inches from him, unwilling to look away from his pale face.

“Alright. What exactly happened out there?” Morgan finally broke the strange silence in the room, grabbing a dirty rag to dry his hands. 

“I--I know him,” Beth replied immediately, her eyes still trained on the man by the fire. For his part, the man shifted, pulling himself onto his elbows so he could look around the room better, despite the fact that it must have hurt like a bitch.

“Ya, you know me,” The man spoke before Morgan could ask his next question, “An’ seein’ as you know me, I’m tryna figure out why exactly you tried to gut me.”

Beth’s eyes widened under the gruff man’s scrutiny, and Morgan had to restrain himself from telling the guy off, but Beth could hold her own.

“I didn’t know I knew you! You just--you came outta nowhere, and you attacked me!”

“It’s not like that! I was--I was gonna hug you!”

“How was I supposed to know that? Some random man comes lunging at you, and--”

“Shush, both of you.” Morgan was confused and annoyed and just about ready to turn this car around.

“Beth, who is this man?” Morgan asked after a moment of blessed silence from his childish companions.

“His name's Daryl,” Beth replied slowly, picking at the loose bits around a tear in her jeans.

“He’s part of Rick’s group. Was at the prison and--and I think--” Her fingers stilled, but she didn’t look away from her frayed jeans.

“I think he was with me after the prison. I think...we were together a while, and then we got separated.”

The stern lines of Morgan’s face softened slightly, and he let himself see the situation from Beth’s perspective. She had thought she was attacked in the woods, only to find she’d stabbed an old friend, one she couldn’t fully remember, and seeing as Morgan hadn’t heard about this ‘Daryl’ guy before, it was entirely possible she’d just been rushed by some lost memories. 

Once again, Morgan was floored by Beth’s resilience and strength. 

“Alright,” Morgan turned his attention to Daryl, who seemed to snap to attention when Morgan spoke. Something like hurt flickered away from Daryl’s face, buried away in some redneck vault Morgan didn’t want to know anything about. 

“You. Daryl’s your name?” The man in question nodded, and Morgan continued, “What were you doing in the woods? Is Rick nearby?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed at the interrogation, flickered to Beth’s stiff form, and then back to Morgan. 

“Same thing she was; I was lookin’ for dinner,” Daryl apparently decided to cooperate, one of his shoulders lifting and dropping in a vague shrug. 

“Rick’s holed up with the others ‘bout a quarter of a mile east of here,” Daryl’s eyes turned back to Beth and he spoke again, clearly for her benefit, “We tried to find Noah’s family after Grady, some place with walls, but it was gone. Been headin’ north ever since, but got delayed by the rain ‘n mud.”

Morgan moved to the sole chair in the small shack, and sank into its hardly welcoming cushions. Rick Grimes was practically a stone’s throw away, and Beth had just happened to be out in the woods at the same time and in the same place as this Daryl man. 

Yeah, Morgan was well on his way to believing in miracles.

“Beth?”

Morgan’s eyes shot to Daryl, uncomfortable with the way the other man had said his girl’s name. Beth had been through a lot, and she was tough as nails, but that didn’t mean he’d let anyone try and strongman memories into her. For her part, Beth finally looked up from her lap.

“How are you here?” Daryl asked, his voice hardly above a rough whisper, and Morgan suddenly felt like like he was intruding on the moment. Beth’s eyes reflected the fire a little too brightly, and Morgan knew she was holding back tears. 

“I don’t know,” Beth answered honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TEAM FAMILY GETS BETH BACK NEXT CHAPTER! YAY! 
> 
> pleasepleaseplease review!


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